Le jardin secret de Wendy Whiteley (Wendy Whiteley's Secret Garden)

Was up all night to catch the first rays of light at Wendy Whiteley’s Secret Garden.  I’d been there to be pestered by the brush turkeys plenty of times and it’s my son’s favourite place on earth.  This is life tendered to by Wendy. 

For those who see ghosts, sure, why not? Ghosts are everywhere. 

But for those who know what to look for, there are plants in that specific Lavender Bay light that still sit and eat that light, and take it into form, the forms sketched, drawn, loved and co-existing with that remarkable family. 

A study of Wendy’s Secret Garden is ultimately a study of yourself. 

My lens is not only unworthy, but useless as it's yourself that’s the only true ghost I think you’ll encounter here. 

This might sound offensive to a well-meaning soft heart, but perhaps that's missing the point. 

We are all, each of us, part of the same thing, just expressed differently. 

Death is not the end of things, nor is birth a beginning. 

G-d is not a thing, just as creativity is not a thing. 

It is both everything and nothing all at the same moment both beyond time, yet occasionally encompassed within it, with life and without.